August-Inspiration

I don’t like it when people ask me about my masters; either on how I am progressing with it or what it is about.  The former frustration is borne from the fact that I never have anything new to say, while the second is from the fact that I am doubting whether I can deliver.  But it is important to talk about it and I think that now is a good time to start being honest about it.

I have become somewhat of a black sheep within the circle of masters students because of my decision to do an extra (third) year for my masters.  This decision is not due to a massive scope; nor cannot I say it wasn’t one that I took lightly, for it naturally flowed out of year’s actions and inactions.

For the first year of my masters (last year) I worked two part time jobs.  This does factor in somewhat in my poor progress last year.  But I cannot blame the work for the extra year, as at the one place I worked I was shamed by someone who worked there full time, drove quite a distance between work and home, was married with children and also was studying part time.  He spent an entire year’s worth of leave to only write exams.  Full credit goes to that person, as it is something very few people would be able to muster.  Certainly not me not then.  The previous year had been extremely taxing on me academically, personally, emotionally and perhaps even spiritually.  I therefore promised myself to take my masters easier and I did.  And thus I am in the situation that I am now.

While last year I had zeal for my topic but aversion to work “double shifts”, this year I had the time, but a sickening nervousness about my work.  Perhaps I am simply looking to place blame which should fall squarely on my laziness elsewhere, but I believe a factor other than pure laziness has been in play this year.  I struggled for months and weeks organising and achieving things for my masters which should really only be a footnote or, at best, an appendix in the actual thesis.  In between these struggles I ever so slowly waded through a sea of literature.  While all this was happening, the sand was passing through what appears to be an ever widening bottleneck.  I subsequently started to doubt myself.  What I initially hope to achieve for my masters turned out to have taken a decade for several teams who actively work in the field.  The promises I had made to others and myself about what I wanted to achieve towered over me like a malicious bully.  The fact that my peers were making good progress with their masters (despite their protests to the contrary) wasn’t helping my self-esteem.

A few weeks ago I managed to confess my concerns and fears to a friend.  Her advice was that I should take these concerns and fears to my advisor, which I did.  I did not receive the pep talk I imagined I would, though, but, then again, if I did would it have helped at all?  Rather, I was told how I should re-orientate myself around the subject matter: that I should not try and build Rome by myself, but at least to try and lay the foundations of some of the buildings.  That would be enough.  I suppose my aspirations for grandeur was actually very childish all along.  I recognised that, have accepted it and can now start work on my masters as a masters student should.  I am roughly now where I should have been a year ago, so with another year I should be able to finish.  Perhaps, if I work hard enough now, I can even finished a couple of months before the required hand-in and give myself ample time to do some soul search about Life After Stellenbosch.

I am not angry that I have to study for another year.  If anything, I am disappointed with my own efforts thus far, but I know that everything happens for a reason.  As I said, the decision flowed naturally and was not one that was met with opposition and strive.  I’ll have another year to spend at the church I found last year: a community friendly and honest believers.  I would like to get involved there more and another year in Stellenbosch will help me do that.  Another buffer year between now and The Real World will also let me look at myself, where I am and where I want to be, and help me achieve one of my greatest desires: to grow personally, emotionally and spiritually.

I want someone for whom no acceptable definition exists.

Someone who, when I try to weigh her, will fly away.

Someone who is just as happy to be infinitely wide as well as infinitesimally small when I try to measure her.

Someone who, when I try to analyse her, diminishes all I know to naught.

Someone who, when I try to observe her, will hold up a mirror so that everybody in the whole world can see all the things that I try to hide from it within himself.

For around 40 years, the Spur has been a favourite among many, many South African families.  It is a steak house done in authentic American style… so much so, that many believe it to be an American franchise.  But it is as South African as biltong, koeksisters and bobotie.

The franchise only started 38 years ago with the opening of the second ever Spur store in Bellville in the Western Cape.  Named the “Silver Spur”, it was located in a posh area.  At the same time, a young married couple settled in Bellville, as the husband had recently gotten work as a teacher at the D.F. Malan High School.  The Silver Spur was situated across from the school’s sports grounds.  The couple was starting out in the real world and some tough times lay ahead still, but at this point in their lives, there were many things to celebrate, so they came to knew the Silver Spur as part of their dining out experiences.

Time passed.  The couple moved on and times changed.  Around the building in which Silver Spur was located, old buildings were replaced by new office blocks.  Parks became endangered, but endured.  While not facing the school directly, the two did stand opposite each other.  The staring contest was never won, but eventually some students sporadically found a retreat in the steak house behind a milkshake and plate of chips after a hard exam.  The Silver Spur too reached out to the school to help sponsor sports events, papers and year books.

But the biggest change that happened was within the community and the surrounding social structures.  Eventually affluence began to wane.  A spilt came and for while, time froze.  To this day—in church services or the Silver Spur—you can spot an old couple who are remnents from the old days.  Perhaps it is the musty fur coat or the out-dated suit and hat—whatever it was, you can see that these people were fell off in days gone by.  While I am cautious about calling it a revival, a new generation is moving into Bellville: those just starting out and who have yet to make their fortunes.  Those who cannot yet buy “on the hill”, but can pick up a property for perhaps still under R1million in the neighbourhood to fix up and turn into their first “dream home”.  But there are still a lot of older people in the suburb of Boston.  This lead to special circumstances at the Silver Spur, like pensioner’s discounts.  After many years, the new top brass of the Spur found out and forbade this practise.  It was replaced with a “pensioner’s menu”, but it was still good.

Having moved back to Bellville just over a decade ago, my parents and I frequented the Spur on mostly special occations, like Mother/Father’s Day or perhaps quiet and private birthday celebration.  We’ve grown attached to the place in a way and recognise the managers and long-time waiters.  Over the past few years price increases have been crippling, but we still manage to show up once in a blue moon.  So it can to be, a few weeks ago, that we returned to the Silver Spur.  As we walked in, I immediately realised that something was drastically different.  The interior decor was, for the most part, the same, but menu’s, logo’s and lighting were different.  Was the Spur undergoing a make-over?  Nothing that I know of, and I was in the Stellenbosch Spur just a week or two before.  Then the menu’s were placed in front of us and with a chill I realised that this was no longer the Silver Spur.  This was the Silver Horn steak ranch.

I called over one of the managers who was obviously doing rounds of explanation.  While I (and even they) am still unclear on the whole story, it boils down to the top brass ordering the Silver Spur—the sistership to the flagship of the franchise—to be closed down.  With little time to argue and even less time to find out any decent reasons, the managers came together and decided to buy out the place.  And so the Silver Horn was born: out of haste and confusion and (and this I believe the be most crucial) a sense of duty towards the regulars and the community at large.

The menu of the Silver Horn is much the same as that of the Spur.  I liked the food and the promise is that the prices will be kept below that of the Spur’s.  The people are the same as before the schism.  The waiters are friendly and know what they do.  Most importantly: the heart is still there.

I cannot give a traditional review.  If you have ever been to a standard (proper) Spur, then you know the food, the layout, the decor and everything else that is usually commented on in a review.  But what I want to stress is the heart and guts of these guys.  The had the guts to stand up against what was suppose to have been a protective body who wanted to shut them down.  They remain loyal to the faces they see come in regularly.  This, I believe, is commendable and they have my respect and loyalty.

So go there and support these guys!  They have been in business on their own only a couple of months.  As a bonus: it has an excellent view!  You look over the tree tops, across a little field, into the school’s sports grounds, the school itself, towering about it, Table Mountain!  Support the Silver Horn!